They’re the old school, reactionary, establishment types who don’t approve of hippity-hop and foreigners and banned 24-hour raves which, to be honest, was a great relief to me at 19 Now, they’re not even that anti-drugs. There’s a wing in the party that is pretty keen on solving the drug problem by legalising everything. I have views, of a sort, but none entirely defined by a single political party or ideology. If anything, I align myself with Alan Clark, described as a “conservative (small c) anarchist” Basically, they’re all bastards. I thought I’d never see anything worse than the Tories but Blair’s banning bonanza is getting close. For Tony, like anyone in power for more than six years, it’s all gone a bit pear-shaped.
I find myself instinctively wanting to protect anything that a government wants to “ban” even if I find it objectionable.

I’m pretty apolitical. When I reclaimed my bag at Heathrow, the list had disappeared. Big Brother may not be watching, but someone’s taking an interest.. Three long sleepless nights of blues club dancing shattered my defences and I finally yielded to Our Blessed Lady of Capitalism.An’ despite the spooks and the neocons an’ all, an’ the purdy ladies with their yabba of social inclusion, I had myself a swell time.I can’t think of any other forum where, on top of the politicos, I’d meet a fire officer, a pathologist, a professional poker player and the man who writes Star Trek. Of course, this may just be soft packaging to disguise the real agenda and brainwash writers like me into saying what good, clean, elitist fun it all is. But that’s the trouble with conspiracy theories: every strand of evidence can be read to support the cause.So what do you make of this? I had a booklet that included the biographies and contact details for all BAP delegates and I stored it in the zipped pouch of my suitcase as I checked in. All they needed to do was get me on a plane to the States where I would be guaranteed to start chanting, “We’re all going to die.” And what could appear more innocuous to the conspiracy theorists than a woman whose transatlantic network was limited to dates with The Sopranos? Because – and here’s another embarrassing secret – I am pretty much the only person I know who has never been to the USA.

But as The Guardian so perceptively suggested, that is the whole purpose of BAP: to enlist soft-touch British lefties and force-feed them ice-cream until they’re singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” every time an Iraqi is shot.Unfortunately I don’t like ice-cream that much, so they had to find another way to make me see just how awesome America – God bless her – truly is. I would seek out my controller and ask him, “Master, why do you send me bad dreams?” The only problem was that it was hard to spot the neocons for all the bleeding-heart liberal stooges trying to discuss urban regeneration and sustainable housing, and how sick-making it was that George Dubya was back in the White House. Until this weekend, that is.Now I had a mission, plus Valium for the flight. As Britain’s greatest scaredy-cat I was perfect to disseminate the spooks’ programme of paranoia. Last April I had attended a selection meeting for BAP after being nominated by an acquaintance who somehow had failed to mention that I would be seated at a Holborn boardroom table drawing Pictionary-style flowcharts at 8am.